


Stars Fading

by BeesAreAwesome



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bondage, Electro-Shock therapy, Grace Kink, Halfway House, Handcuffs, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Michael is a dickhead, Sub Dean, Un-Negotiated Kink, Wing Kink, apocalypse world Michael, forced medications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-06 00:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreAwesome/pseuds/BeesAreAwesome
Summary: Dean isn't crazy, but everyone thinks he is. Everyone but Michael. He's the only one that understands Dean.For SPN Knink Bingo 2019: different chapters for different prompts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to add characters and other tags as I go along.   
> Ch1 Square filled: eh, none yet.

Dean had turned 18 two weeks ago and now… Now he was a free man. 

 

Free.

 

He wasn’t sure what that meant.

 

The people ahead of him shuffled slowly up the line as they waited their turn with a teller. A bank. They all moved like zombies, shambling across the outdated, floral carpeting, sweaty meat suits grasping fists of deposit slips, moaning out for brains, or cash, it was all the same to Dean. He shambled with the best.

 

There were no clocks on the walls and the room smelled of disinfectant. It reminded him of the hospital. It reminded him of home. A home he no longer had, because now… Now he was a free man.

 

Free to stand in line at the bank with a state-funded check, his monthly allowance, to aid in his rehabilitation and re-introduction to society. Free to return to a state-funded halfway house for other social outcasts like himself. Other “crazies." Free to continue doing what he was told and to take his state-funded pills and always check in by 9pm every night. Free to attend mandatory state-funded group therapy sessions. Free to be state-funded, wack-a-doo Dean. The only thing was, he wasn’t crazy.

 

_ “Next, please.” _

 

He wasn’t crazy. He was a ward of the state. They did things to his head to make him forget, but he’d never forget being crazy. And crazy he was not.

 

_ “Sir?” _

 

Dean blinked. The woman in front of him was pretty. Dark hair, dark eyes, full mouth. She reminded him of Meg from the hospital. Dean couldn’t remember if she lived there or worked there, because they all wore scrubs. Dean hated that they made him forget things.

 

He knew his name: Dean Winchester. He knew his brother: Sam Winchester. He knew where he lived: Ogden Ave, Chicago, IL 60612. He knew his favorite color, favorite food. But he didn’t know why he forgot things. He forgot why he lived in the hospital, and he forgot why they made him leave. It had become home, and comfortable, a sweet and steady routine. He lived on Ogden now, but it wasn’t his home.

 

“Sir! Withdrawal or deposit? Sir?”

 

Dean looked into brown, caring eyes. “I… have this.” He slid his crumpled check over to the nice lady and waited. He trusted her.

 

“Do you have an account?”

 

“Yes.” The woman was staring at him, expecting something. But Dean couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do next. The hospital made him stupid. The pills made him stupid. He wasn’t supposed to be stupid.

 

“Do you know the account number?”

 

Dean unclenched his other hand and saw another slip of paper, a ten-digit number scrawled across the page in an elegant script, neat penmanship that made him smile. Maybe Meg wrote it for him.

 

“Yes.” He handed the second piece of paper over to the woman. She fiddled around with her computer, then directed the check through a scanner that made subtle high-pitched noises. Dean didn’t like that noise. But then it stopped. Dean liked that it stopped.

 

“There you are, Mister Winchester. Have a blessed day.” The woman smiled and handed him back another slip of paper. Account balances, by the look of it.

 

“Thank… Thank you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed towards the door. A tall, stocky man with twinkling blue eyes greeted him, led Dean outside, then ushered him into the passenger side of an old Ford pick-up truck. Benny.

 

Benny was good people. Benny made good food. Benny was a good part of his new address. He lived at Ogden but wasn’t crazy either. Benny helped look after people and made sure they took their meds and made sure they ate. He made sure they brushed their teeth, washed behind their ears, said their prayers and everything you could think of. Benny was good. Dean was good. Dean wanted Benny to be his friend.

 

“You’re my friend, Benny.”

 

“Sure as shit, kid.” Benny gave him a small pat on the shoulder, then drove them to back to Ogden Ave, Chicago, IL 60612.

 

\---

 

“Geez, Benny, do I have to?”

The older man was looking down at Dean with kindly, but firm eyes. Dean huddled tighter into himself at the breakfast nook of the Ogden Ave halfway house to escape that imploring gaze.

“C’mon, Dean. You know that part of the conditions of your release was that you were to continue takin’ your medications at the appointed times. And right now is an appointed time…”

Dean cheeked his meds at lunch yesterday, and again at dinner later that night, and then a third time before bed. Now it was breakfast and he was finally lifting out of his fog. Another day or two and he might actually be able to function like a real boy. Take off your wooden limbs, Pinocchio, it’s time to dance.

And it’s not like he didn’t intend to never take them again. Sure, it was part of the conditions… But a break was nice. He didn’t remember where the idea had come from to cheek his meds, he thought one of the other residents must have whispered the suggestion to him. But now that he hadn’t taken them, he wanted to keep up the hiatus, if even only for a few more days.

“I know, man… But they make me feel like I’m under water. Nothing sounds right or looks right. Just… let me take a break for a few hours? I’ll go back on ‘em for dinner. Promise.”

Benny closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m all for gettin’ you kids off that shit, none of it’s good for ya, I know, but skippin’ doses ain’t the way to do it. I’ll make an informed suggestion to your doctor at the next review to lower the dose. But, brother, if you want to stay here, in the meantime you gotta take ‘em. Ain’t no good gonna come from skippin’ or goin’ cold turkey.”

Dean, resigned, lowered his gaze to his cooling pancakes and bacon, then blindly held out his opened palm to Benny, who gently handed over several pills. Haloperidol: anti-psychotic. Diazepam: anti-anxiety. Lithium: mood stabilizer. Sodium valproate: mood stabilizer. Etc. etc. He put the handful of pills in his mouth, gulped down the majority of his OJ, then brought his sad, manipulative eyes to Benny as he opened his mouth wide for him to see (all gone!), blinking up at him like he was a bad, bad man. Benny smiled weakly down at Dean and clapped him on the back, then walked back to the stove to fry up more bacon. The guilt wafting off the older man was almost tangible.

Once his back was turned, Dean emptied the handful of pills that never made it into his mouth inside his back pocket. None of the other residents seemed to notice his sleight of hand, either.

\---

Dean was allowed out to go look for a job so long as he was ~~home~~ back to Ogden by 9pm. If he was to become an active and healthy member of society, he needed to show that he could take steps toward becoming self-reliant; responsible.

He had managed to avoid taking his pills for three full days at that point, and he couldn’t remember feeling so alive, awake, and downright refreshed. He had never intended to take a permanent break from his meds, but at the way the world was suddenly clear and free of mind-sludge, he doubted he’d have the gumption to swallow down another handful any time soon.

Dean decided for his first day out and about without a chaperone, he’d take the train downtown and see where his feet would take him from there. It wasn’t a long commute; a five-minute walk to get to the train from Ogden, then less than ten minutes on the Green Line and he would be on the other side of the Chicago river.

During his commute, Dean turned in his seat and curiously looked around at the other passengers seated behind him in the car: A woman and her daughter playing cat's cradle with a yellow piece of yarn; a business man in a fine tailored suit with an expensive looking briefcase; a drunk in a worn out beanie and military style jacket, snoring, a brown paper bag clutched tightly to his chest. These were all fine citizens of Chicago, and now he was one of them, too. Dean smiled to himself as he turned and leaned back against his seat. He closed his eyes and started humming to himself.  _ Stars shining bright above you… _

Dean could hear the old timey crackle of a phonograph as the song took over his thoughts. He swayed his head to the music as the man, the singer, continued in his sweet, soft voice. He couldn’t place where he knew the song from, but he loved it. Not Mama Cass. Older; much older.  _ Night breezes seem to whisper I love you… _

Yes.  _ Birds singing in the sycamore trees… _

Dean opened his eyes briefly to look out the window and see where he was on his short journey. Just crossing the river. He could get off any time now. He’d wait just another stop or two, the music was so nice.  _ Dream a little dream of me… _

“They’re playing our song.”

“What?” Dean looked up to the bench seat across from him that had been empty when he had closed his eyes just a minute prior. There sat a beautiful man, not likely much older than Dean himself, gazing at him with a small smirk playing across his full, pouty lips. “Did you say something?”

The man shook his head, but let his eyes linger with secret promises.  _ Say nighty night and kiss me… _

Was he staring? Dean couldn’t drag his eyes away now that they had locked onto the man. Dark eyes searched his soul from across the aisle. Butterflies started flittering around his stomach, trying to climb their way up into his chest. An odd sensation to have on the train, and Dean couldn’t place the ‘why’ of it.  _ Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me… _

The train slowed to a stop and Dean leapt up to wait his turn to exit, finally breaking the uncomfortable stare. Several people crowded the door, jostling each other in their hurry to leave, and Dean was pushed back several steps, knocking into a solid form behind him.  He turned to apologize and found himself chest to chest with the beautiful man, dark mischievous eyes sparkling down at him, piercing his skin and looking inside, a steadying arm wrapped around his waist.

“Shit. Sorry.” The man just continued smiling at him. While it was a pretty smile, it wasn’t a nice one. It was the smile of someone who wanted to eat him for dinner; not predatory per se, but it surely held sinful intent. Dean could feel the butterflies crawling up his esophagus, wings flapping against the back of his throat, hell-bent on escape.  _ While I’m alone and blue as can be… _

Something brushed past his backside as the doors to the train finally opened. Did this guy seriously just touch his butt? “Buy a guy a drink first, sheesh…” Dean was muttering under his breath as the man coaxed him backward and out onto the platform. The man still hadn’t said anything, but the longer they held each other’s gaze, the longer Dean felt like he knew him from somewhere.  _ Dream a little dream of me… _

Dean blinked in confusion as the man held up a plastic lanyard in his hand, grinning impishly, grinning like a fox. “If I give this back, will you come with me?” Shit, that was Dean’s transit pass! That had been in his back pocket… So much for friendly groping.

Suddenly, the crackling of the phonograph grew louder. Too loud. The music had stopped, yet the crackle persisted. So loud. His head started spinning, or maybe it was the platform. Spinning, crackling, Dean threw his hands over his ears to shut out the sounds. It only grew worse.

“Please…” It wasn’t more than a whimper. As he opened his mouth, one of his butterflies escaped and flitted about his face before it flew off into the blue. The world lurched as he followed the motions with his glassy eyes and he stumbled. Only the solid frame of the man before him kept him from falling.   

“Come with me, Dean.” The man held out his hand, face suddenly quite composed, almost concerned. “I can help you.” The last was a soft whisper.

Help. “Yes!” Dean reached out and grasped tightly to the outstretched hand before him. And then the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean loses his virginity via grace fucking
> 
> @BlindSwandive Beta-beta-beta-rific!
> 
> for SPN Kink Bingo  
> Square filled: MichaelDean

Ch2

When Dean opened his eyes, he was sprawled out on a large comfy bed, a figure propped up on one elbow beside him. Draped across his chest was an arm--a well-toned arm belonging to the strange man with the beautiful face, his fingertips lazily playing with the collar of Dean’s t-shirt.

Dean took a moment to gaze at him, fully taking in all the details. He had smooth, perfect skin that reminded Dean of coffee with cream, and he wondered if he tasted as nice as warm coffee in the winter. He bet he did. A single, dark freckle adorned the left side of his face, a solitary blemish that only magnified his appearance. Dean reached up his hand and brushed his fingers across that cheek, something old and forbidden stirring in his memories.

The man stared down at him with a warm and open face that made Dean feel loved. It wasn’t a feeling that he was used to. He was a ward of the state. The state didn’t love its children, and neither did the doctors or nurses that force fed him pills and told him he was crazy. But this man loved him, Dean just knew it.

“There you are.” The man smiled at him affectionately. “I’ve missed you.”

“I…” The memories were brushing past Dean’s face, moving too fast for him to catch one and study it. He knew this man, but how? He felt so lost and out of control. The hospital took this from him, whatever this was. He wanted it back. He hated the hospital for making him less, making him forget. He was suddenly very glad it was no longer his home.

The man seemed to read his thoughts. He leaned over and brushed his lips across Dean’s forehead. “You don’t remember me. Would you like to?”

“Yes!” Dean grasped him by the lapels of his duster and dragged his mouth down into a sloppy kiss. He didn’t have any experience with kissing, but it felt like the right thing to do. It was awkward; a little too much tongue and not the right angle, but it was fucking amazing nonetheless, and Dean felt himself growing hard in his pants as the man kissed him back in earnest.

“I missed you, too.” Dean didn’t know why, but he knew it was true. This man was important, a part of him--something long lost, and he was desperate to get it back. “Make me remember.”

The man lifted himself up to his knees and positioned himself between Dean’s legs. He leaned over and slowly began removing his flannel, then t-shirt. When the man’s hands drifted down his stomach to land on the button of his blue jeans, Dean’s heart made a little flutter. He was nervous about whatever was about to happen, but Dean wanted it; he wanted this man, wanted to know him in every way.

Dean lifted his hips as the man gently tugged his pants down to his ankles, then over his feet to be tossed aside to the floor. He brought his fingers up to caress the skin of Dean’s exposed thighs, a feather light touch that left Dean needing more.

Dean was naked and trembling before the man, waiting to be told what to do. It seemed like hours of getting lost in dark brown pools of eternity before Dean started to feel the tingle. It started in the back of his skull, like the memory of a soft tickle, before slowly working its way down the entirety of his exposed flesh. His skin was buzzing with it, with the electricity that flooded out from the man and blanketed Dean.

The man touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead, sending a tendril of something into his mind. With the touch, a dam of sensation broke loose over his skin, and inside him.

Memories flooded him as the pleasure center of his brain was simultaneously caressed. Something warm and itchy started building within the lowest part of his belly, building up pressure that wanted to escape from his most private places. It was overwhelming.

Dean threw his head back and gasped, writhing on the bed, feeling like a thousand hands were touching him, a thousand mouths tonguing hot strips across his body. He could feel his knees being gently pushed apart to make room for something to be inserted into his virgin body. A thousand fingers moved inside him, pumping in and out to a prestissimo tempo, a thousand times hitting a perfect place that made him want to scream in time to the rhythm.

**_Dean was at the top of the very tallest tree. He was afraid to climb down, afraid he couldn’t find his footing and would fall. Dean was sorry he hid in the tree to begin with, but Sammy was crying, and Daddy was angry, so he ran and ran and then climbed and climbed._ **

**_Before he could cry out for help, he was embraced in the most softest, most whitest wings in the world. He was flying! He wouldn’t fall and die, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting stuck in trees. Not ever again. “Are you an angel?”_ **

**_“Yes, child. I’m --_ **

“Michael!” Dean gasped for air, his sweaty hands clutching at the sheets in his ecstasy.

The man, Michael, brushed his lips against Dean’s, little blue-white sparks like electric shocks tickling his mouth and tongue. Michael slid down Dean’s torso to land at the head of his cock. He blew out a soft breath over the head, the air around him glowing and sizzling, sending more of those little sparks right into the slit. That whisper of breath made the sensations intensify, pounding into him from both behind and now the front. It was an eruption of pleasure to each and every erogenous zone on his body; prestissimo agitato. He arched his back off the mattress and cried out for mercy, for it to never end, for the angel to kiss him through his impending climax.

The stars fell, and the sky burned, and everything spun out of control. Dean felt something hot and sticky land across his chest in spurts, all the sensations catching up to him and racing out of his aching cock. And then everything lessened and lessened until all Dean felt was a content high as his body fell back into a relaxed state.

“What the fuck was that?” Years of medication had left Dean with zero libido. While other kids his age were off touching and experimenting, he was a zombie, rocking back and forth, watching Scooby Doo and not thinking about sex. But shit, now that he was clean and clear-headed, he knew he wanted more of whatever that feeling was.

“Sex, Dean. That was my Grace you felt.”

“Huh. So that’s what all the fuss is about. I sooo get it now. Why’d you use your grace, though?”

Michael smirked at him. “The last time you dreamed about me, before you went away, this is what you dreamed. I thought to give you the reality.”

Dean could feel his face turning red. Yeah, he was starting to remember those dreams now, the fantasy’s he’d started having about his angel. He hadn’t realized Michael could see that far into his mind. He should have known better… Michael was a friggin’ angel, of course he could. But that was before the high doses of medications, before the experimental therapies that fried his memories, his personality, right out of his brain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget you.”

Michael scooped him up in his arms. “I would have come to you sooner, sweet boy, but something they gave you blocked me.They changed your wavelength. I couldn’t find you again until a few days ago. Please don’t go away again?”

Dean knew right then and there that he would never again take those awful pills. They were responsible for taking away his angel. Haloperidol: anti-psychotic. Diazepam: anti-anxiety. Lithium: mood stabilizer. Sodium valproate: mood stabilizer. Etc. etc. He would never be hidden from his angel. Never again.


	3. Don't Defy Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For SPN Kink Bingo 2019  
> Square Filled: Handcuffs
> 
> Dean recalls a time from his stay at the hospital, gets a job as a handy-man, then has a kink-tastic sexfest with Michael. Things start to get dark.
> 
> Beta'd by super-awesome Blindswandive

**4 years ago**

 

“Sammy!” There were demons surrounding him, clad in various shades of blue and white scrubs, some wearing lab coats, all holding Dean’s thrashing body down against the cold, sterile bed. Straps were being tied around his hands and feet, keeping him from lashing out.

 

“What did you do to my brother?! Where is he?! Sammy!” Dean knew the demons were up to no good. They used him and his brother for all sorts of experiments, but for what purpose, Dean could only speculate. No one would tell him why he was here or what they wanted from him. And so, he struggled, and screamed, and lashed out, demanding that he be returned to his brother. No one listened; no one cared.

 

“Calm yourself, Dean. Make this easier on yourself.” The voice that was probably meant to sound soothing just sounded like snakes trying to slither out of a paper bag. It was nasally and evil, and Dean was afraid of it.

 

“No, no, nononono! You stay away from me!” But the hissing voice grew closer, and a gaunt and scruffy face with a sinister leer leaned in close, placing its bony hand across Dean’s chest, pressing him into the torture rack he was strapped to. The hot breath puffing across his face felt like maggots trying to worm their way into his mouth, and smelled of the rotting flesh they desired. 

 

Dean felt his heart trying to rip itself out of his chest as the skeletal hand caressed his sternum, leaving a trail of slime coating his skin as the hand slid across his body to his arm. A sharp prick to his deltoid made Dean slam his face to the side of the bed to watch as a long and filthy antique syringe was pulled from his arm. That was one of many places they chose to put the poison inside him. It was better than when it went into his neck; it hurt less, made him less sick.

 

Even if it hurt less, Dean still hated the poison and arched his back off the table trying to get free, to run and hide. But the straps and hundreds of hands holding him down were stronger than he was. A resigned sob left his mouth as his face scrunched up and a few stray tears left the corner of his eye, his vision growing blurry. “Sam!” 

 

He didn’t fall asleep when they poisoned him like this, but he felt drugged, barely able to move or resist. The lab-coat and scrub-clad demons had free reign with his body, and it was always terrible what they did. This time it was some sort of suction cups attached to wires that they placed on his temples. A rubbery mouth guard was shoved between his teeth as the slimy snake demon leaned over again and spoke. “Calm, deep breaths, Dean.” Nails on chalkboard; chicken wire caught on flesh; please help.

 

Then the electricity shot through his body, whiting out his vision in a jolt of calamitous pain.  _ Sammy, Michael, if you can hear me, please help!  _ No one was listening; the demons had his mind blocked. The white-hot buzzing kept shooting through his body in expertly timed intervals, planned out to cause maximum damage. 

 

Dean let out a gurgled scream around the rubber filling his mouth, teeth clamping down against his will. He could feel the sinew standing out on his neck as the electric jolts forced his head back against white hospital sheets. More tears slipped down the sides of his face as he braced himself for the next convulsing shock. Dean was struck with an upsetting feeling in his mind, like the uncanny, almost-there memory of deja vu: this has happened before, in the exact same way. This wasn’t new torture. Dean was remembering more, and realized this had happened several times already, along with all the other torments they inflicted on his mind and body. 

 

The last thought Dean had before he fell unconscious was that the beasts around him would make him forget again, just like they always did. He’d forget Sammy, he’d forget Michael, his mom and his dad, uncle Bobby and Ellen, even himself. He didn’t want to forget.

He was Dean Winchester: the righteous man, the Sword of Heaven. If he forgot, the world would be destroyed. He would find a way to climb out of perdition if it was the last thing he ever did. The whole world was counting on him.

 

\---

 

**Present day**

 

Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up and aimlessly slapped at the button on his alarm. His dreams from the prior night left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but dreams are ephemeral and the feeling started to fade, as early morning stars do, the dream all the while slipping through his fingers and dissipating into a forgotten fog. 

 

Dean slipped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He was now considered responsible enough to take his meds of his own volition, not needing Benny to watch him like a hawk, so he dumped his morning dose out of the pill case and into his hands, then promptly flushed them all down the toilet. He wouldn’t be needing those things today, or ever again. 

 

As Dean studied himself in the foggy mirror, a steady smile covered his face. He was going to work today; he had a job! He was officially an adult, doing adult things now. In a year from now, if he showed that he could take care of himself and not slip back into the mania he had exhibited as a child, then he would be allowed to move into his own apartment with only weekly check-ins from his social worker. 

 

Benny was highly impressed when the phone rang, one Garth Fitzgerald on the other end of the line, seeking to hire Dean as an assistant super for a series of apartments that were currently being rehabbed in the downtown area. Benny’s eyebrows raised near off the top of his forehead as Garth told him how he had discovered that Dean was the man for the job. 

 

Dean had wandered into one of the old buildings looking to explore when he found an open panel in one of the basement walls. There was a hanging lantern hooked into a portable generator humming nearby and several electrician’s tools sitting across an old work bench. Whoever had been working on this project had apparently given up, so Dean stepped in and did what came instinctually to him. With a quick twist here and a clip there, he had gotten them all together in the correct order and voila! A flip to the power switch and all the lights went on! Garth had walked in as Dean was flipping the switch and gave a long whistle. “Don’t suppose you’re looking for a job, kid?” 

 

Dean was proud of himself. So was Benny, and so was Michael. And Michael told him they would celebrate properly after he was done with his very first shift. Dean was looking forward to it all day.

 

It was easy work for Dean. He ended up switching out a few old rusted pipes for some new, shiny copper ones, then re-fit a few apartments with grounding wires and 3-prong outlets to protect from electrical faults, then finished up the day with priming the walls of an apartment that had had brand new drywall put up a few days prior.  

 

He really had no idea where he had learned how to do all this. Despite remembering some things, not everything had come back to him. There were so many things, people, and places that were heavy on the edge of his mind, the weight near enough to tip him forward, yet he couldn’t quite recall.  

 

He was only 18, and he knew he’d been living at the hospital since he was at least 14--maybe even younger. Dean knew they didn’t teach trade skills in padded cells; it was a mystery for him to unravel. Maybe Michael remembered?

 

Dean cleaned up after himself and stored the primer and brushes in the hall closet along with the paint that would go on the walls tomorrow when they were dry. He called Garth on the work phone he had received earlier in the day to check out for the evening (yep, he got a phone with this job!!!). It was 6pm and he’d been at it for 10 hours, and no more was expected of him for the day. So he quickly changed out of his work overalls and put on his nice jeans, then headed out to spend the last few hours until curfew with Michael at his loft down the road. 

 

\---

 

Before Dean got his second shoe kicked off and the door barely latched behind him, he felt strong arms wrap around him, one hand covering his mouth and the other wrapped around his waist lifting him off the floor. Dean grinned as the hand clamping down on his mouth tightened, hushing his muffled groans and forcing his head back to expose his neck. He felt a tongue flick out briefly with a crackle of blue energy that made him hold his breath in anticipation.

 

He didn’t kick or struggle like most people would when taken by surprise, and he didn’t yell out when he was unceremoniously dragged across the loft to be tossed onto the bed, only to be immediately manhandled onto his back and blindfolded, then handcuffed to the headboard. He couldn’t see his assailant but Dean didn’t panic; he didn’t have to.

 

Michael knew what to do with him. He could read his thoughts, his innermost desires; he was an angel after all. Dean had prayed to him the whole way there to make it rough, to make him feel it for days. And he knew Michael was about to oblige his whims.

Dean may have been new to sex, but since Michael first took him a week prior, he was suddenly filled with an unslakable thirst, like all of the carnal knowledge of the last several centuries had been imparted to his young brain. He knew Michael had given him that gift of knowledge, and wanted to feel what all those almost-memories felt like firsthand.

 

Dean hadn’t specifically prayed for the restraints, but he knew Michael was giving what was truly needed, the ideas stolen from the darkest recesses of his mind. Dean was filled with a sense of sordid irony. He had been restrained his whole life, had his power taken from him, repeatedly strapped to a table to be injected or sliced into; the parts that made him Righteous were stolen and hidden away by the demons. But the cuffs he felt on his wrists at that moment gave him a surge of new energy, new power. Instead of being used to take his essence, they were being used to give new radiance, and no longer by demons, but an angel. He would soon again be filled with Grace. 

 

“Michael!” Dean moaned out his name and threw his head back, a strong surge of lust flowing through him as he felt powerful hands ripping at his clothes, tugging his jeans over his hips and down his legs. 

 

Feathers brushed past his knees as his legs were shoved apart, sending an all new tingle of sensation through his body. Michael had never touched him with his wings before, let alone left them out for Dean to admire on more than a couple occasions when he was a child. But now, Dean could sense them lightly brushing over his exposed skin sending sharp spikes of sensation across his body, similar to when he’d been touched directly with Grace, yet entirely different. Instead of electrical buzzing, this was both softer and sharper, like a  Wartenberg pinwheel being rolled across velvet, needles stabbing and soft tongues lapping at once. It was both pain and pleasure. 

 

As Michael dragged a wing across Dean’s nipple, a wave of pain wracked through him, pain that quickly turned into pleasure, a complete hedonic reversal. Dean moaned out and tugged at the cuffs around his wrists, wanting nothing more than to break free and grind Michael into him. He wanted to be filled with his essence, needed it. “Please!”

 

He could hear Michael click his tongue in a tsk-tsk, telling Dean to be patient and silent. But Dean couldn’t stop moaning as the wings continued to slice into his chest and down his abdomen, getting closer to his groin. Silence was only granted to Michael when Dean felt his jaw being forced open, his mouth filling with the sharp tingling of Grace. It felt like when you licked the end of a battery to see if it still had any juice left and it made your tongue buzz. Only this wasn’t a brief lick--this was a mouthful of angel and the electric buzz was overwhelming.

 

Dean’s dick jumped of its own accord, leaking heavily as he waited for Michael to finish his caresses and finally fuck him. Now blindfolded, gagged, and restrained, the only thing he could do was wait, and Michael seemed to enjoy torturing him with the anticipation. 

 

Before Dean could form a full prayer to let Michael know what he needed, tendrils of Grace began working him open and sliding inside, instantly sating Dean’s need to be filled. It started out as a thin trickle, barely the size of one of Dean’s fingers, the buzzing sensation filling his waiting hole and teasing around his prostate. The tendrils gradually multiplied, opening him up wide as they began fucking deep into him at a mercilessly inhuman speed. Dean squeezed his eyes shut behind his blindfold and arched his back off the bed, screaming into his gag of Grace as the tendrils below pushed into him, forcing his body to slide up the bed with each thrust. 

 

Dean could feel the multiple tendrils condensing into one solid, fist-sized shape. It pounded in and out of him as Michael lifted his hips off the bed with solid and strong hands--an all new angle to be fucked in--while his wings pushed Dean’s legs further apart. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, and Dean didn’t know if he should scream for it to stop or pray for more. But Michael knew. He knew exactly what Dean needed the most at that moment.

 

Dean could feel Michael shift between his thighs as a wet warmth wrapped around his neglected dick, soft lips and tongue making a startling contrast to the electrical sting in his mouth and ass. As the grace pumped frantically within him, the mouth sucked gently, causing Dean’s orgasm to rip out of him with no warning, a turbulent and shaky ride like a barrel tumbling over niagara falls with him securely trapped inside. Michael sucked him through to the end, the Grace slowing down its rapid pace and gradually lessening the stretch until finally there was nothing left within Dean.

 

When the Grace left Dean’s mouth, he realized he was still screaming. Michael leaned over to remove his blindfold, then smiled lovingly down at Dean as he ran soft fingers through his sweaty hair, shushing and lulling him back to calm like one would do for an infant. “There, there, sweet boy. Hush now.” 

 

The soft words worked, and within moments, Dean was calmed and smiling back up at the angel with all the admiration his heart could muster. He licked his lips. Michael took the hint and leaned down to kiss him, his soft tongue licking away any remaining tension from Dean’s body, leaving him feeling like shapeless jelly in the afterglow of their sex.

 

Michael draped his wing over Dean as they kissed, and he could see that there were little barbed protrusions sticking out everywhere that must have caused the sharp pain while he was being caressed before. But Michael was now retracting them back within the nestle of feathers until only gentle softness remained. The blanket of down covering his body made Dean sleepy and complacent, not caring for one second that Michael still had him cuffed to the bed.

 

“Hmmm. Can it always be like that?” Dean was content, sated, and couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

 

“It will always be what you need.” Michael's voice was soft and sincere, but something not-so-nice briefly crossed his face as he spoke, something... not quite malevolent, but close. It left a hollow pit at Dean’s core. Dean almost missed the look it was so fleeting, but he knew in that moment that what he “needed” might one day be terrifying and that Michael would deeply enjoy delivering that gift.

 

Dean looked up at his angel, a hint of fear in his eyes that he tried very hard to hide away. “I have to go now. They’re expecting me.”

 

Michael leaned in and kissed him again, so soft and sweet that Dean thought he was probably imagining things. Michael’s gentle fingers tickled his skin as they worked their way up his arm, stopping at his wrists where the cuffs were digging into his skin. They suddenly snapped open and dropped away, allowing Dean to lower his arms and wrap them around Michael.

 

“Stay with me, Dean. I don’t like being without you.” He kissed Dean deeper, pulling a sigh out of the boy beneath him. Dean really didn’t want to leave, but he needed to go soon.

 

Dean spoke quietly against Michael’s lips. “I never want to leave you. But if I don’t show up for 9pm check-in, I’ll be sent away. And then you won’t see me again for a long time. Please.” Dean gingerly pushed up at Michael’s solid chest to request he be allowed to sit up and dress himself.

 

But Michael suddenly grabbed his wrists and slammed his hands down, pinning them on either side of his head. “ **Stay!** ” The shout sounded like a thousand lions roaring at once, or possibly a freight train full of lions derailing over a cliff, Dean couldn’t be certain which metaphor fit better. His ears rung furiously from the close proximity to Michael’s booming voice. Dean flinched back into the pillows, never once having expected the fury that shone on Michael’s face, his next few breaths startled right out of him.

 

Michael continued, his voice gentler, but still hard and fierce. “I will stop time for you, Dean. Stay. You won’t be taken away from me. I won’t let them do it again.” 

 

Dean started to panic. This wasn’t the Michael he knew; something was wrong with him. Something was off. Maybe the demons had got to him! Maybe he actually wanted to hurt Dean… No. He needed to think. Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight and struggled in the angel's grip.  _ Please, let me go. Please, let me go. I need to get back. I  _ **_need_ ** _ to get back!  _ **_I NEED TO GET BACK!_ **

 

With a frustrated roar in his ears and the sound of wings snapping in the wind, Dean felt his world spinning out of control, his body being flung to and fro while remaining completely motionless. His knees slammed into something damp and grassy with a soft thud. When he opened his eyes, he was fully clothed, kneeling on the lawn outside the halfway house. Michael was nowhere to be seen. The time on his watch read 8:55; five minutes to spare.


End file.
